


bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep

by Set_Suna



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Dry heaving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Manipulation, Nightmares, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Panic Attacks, Psychological Horror, Sam is trapped in the Egg and it's not fun, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, big bro/dad sam, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28994148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Set_Suna/pseuds/Set_Suna
Summary: It happened too fast. Way too fast. Sam thought he had it. He thought he’dfinallybroken through to Bad. He’d gone too far, trying to trap Tommy and Tubbo with the Egg. He couldn’t let their stunts slide anymore. He didn’t back down, and Bad finally seemed to relent. It was strange, being asked to “hug it out” over something so serious, but if Bad was still anywhere in there, it was possible. Sam decided to trust. He should’ve known that was never an option.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Sam | Awesamdude & Cara | CaptainPuffy, Sam | Awesamdude & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Cara | CaptainPuffy
Comments: 42
Kudos: 511





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK SAM you mess with my emotions and catch these hands. The experience of being trapped with the Egg for an extended period of time is too tempting to not explore. Especially when you're trying so hard to resist. I'm kinda really proud of this so I hope you all enjoy it,,,
> 
> TW: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm and Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation !!!!
> 
> Title from "Choke" by _I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME_.

It happened too fast. Way too fast. Sam thought he had it. He thought he’d _finally_ broken through to Bad. He’d gone too far, trying to trap Tommy and Tubbo with the Egg. He couldn’t let their stunts slide anymore. He didn’t back down, and Bad finally seemed to relent. It was strange, being asked to “hug it out” over something so serious, but if Bad was still anywhere in there, it was possible. Sam decided to trust. He should’ve known that was never an option. 

He was falling. The floor beneath him had disappeared as Bad stepped back, the sound of a button pressing replacing a footstep. The last thing he’d seen was Bad, smiling warmly, like he was watching a close friend come home. The rainbow flash of Puffy’s coat flickered as the trap above him closed. Then it was dark. 

There was nothing. Just darkness. His tools were gone. Ant had tricked him. Another fault of his willingness to trust. He’d hit ground, somewhere, and his head was spinning because of it. He tugged off his helmet, tossing it across the small space he was in. His eyes were adjusting to the scraps of light filtering through slits in the walls. He flattened his hands across the floor. 

This wasn’t stone. This wasn’t the red mush of the Egg and it’s tentacles. Sam knew this texture. He’d molded it and shaped it into the prison he was supposed to be guarding. This was obsidian. 

He pushed himself to his feet. He jammed his fingers into one of the slits, searching the small space for any familiar signs. His heart dropped. He shivered as a cold feeling of dread washed over him. This was in the room with the Egg. The overwhelming amount of vines and tentacles gave that away. He heard the slow pop of lava, and slid to the floor as it filled his ears. 

He was trapped. For real, this time. No. No, he couldn’t give up so quickly. There were things he needed to do. People he needed to protect. There had to be something--anything--he could do. 

Sam pulled his sword from his hip. He swung Warden’s Will over his head, eyes locked on the only view of the world he had. He jammed his sword down, attempting to lodge it there. The blade glinted off the obsidian’s edge, clattering loudly against the floor. He stumbled back, roughly bumping against the other wall. He inhaled sharply, a breath getting stuck in his throat. Again. No giving up. Warden’s Will slashed again, only to be met with the same results. Come on. Netherite should have more effect than this. He tried again, and again, and again. Sam attacked his obsidian cage until his hands spasmed and dropped his sword, unable to hold its weight any longer. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be the one guarding the cage, not the one inside it. 

Breathing hurt. Sam wasn’t familiar with that. He fell to his knees, nails dragging across the obsidian beneath his fingertips. He slowly glanced up, watching the red dust and motes filter through his only source of air. A hoarse laugh bubbled out of his throat. So that was it. That’s all it was, huh? Bad only acted like he’d considered what Sam said. It was all a ploy to get him down here with the Egg. He had two options: live and stay here with the accursed thing until help arrived, or die before it broke him. 

Another laugh burst from Sam’s lips. How ridiculous. Betrayed by two of his best friends. He should have expected it. That’s how the Dream SMP operated. No one was safe. No one was ever truly your friend. An image flashed in his mind. Two boys. A tall blonde boy who’d already hurt enough and a shorter brunette who had come to terms with his own death at the age of 17. Instead of another hysteric laugh, a pained sob came from deep inside him. 

He reached out, hands fumbling for the hilt of his blade. He clamped his eyes shut and pulled the sword to his chest. He’d sworn to protect them. He promised Tommy to help build his hotel. He and Tubbo still had work to do at the ocean monument. They needed someone to look out for them. Sam knew he’d kill for those boys. What use was a sword in a display case? 

Sam cried. He sobbed and apologized and begged to deaf ears of gods who didn’t listen. He had believed and was punished for it. In one decision to show someone he so desperately hoped was still his friend a moment of vulnerability, he was betrayed. Bad and Ant were too far gone. They were going to get to Tommy and use him and manipulate him just like Dream had.

A hot, coursing flare of anger shot up Sam’s chest. He let out a teary, enraged scream and threw his sword across the cage. Warden’s Will clattered to the ground helplessly, not even scratching the obsidian walls. A defeated sob escaped Sam’s lips. He buried his head in his arms, curling in on himself tight. 

His world had crumbled so fast around him. In one night, he’d lost so much. Hopelessness set in dark and heavy on his shoulders. If he’d cried himself to sleep in that prison, no one was around to hear it.

-

Sam woke up faster than his body appreciated. He sat up too fast, making his vision fill with static. Coughs racked his body, tearing his throat to shreds. His mouth was drier than a desert. His chest hurt, and he couldn’t tell if he was imagining the faint red tint to his spit. He felt his body heave, but only succeeded in increasing his feeling of nausea. He was on his hands and knees, dry heaving as his body rejected _something_. He fell onto his elbows when it finally passed, shutting his eyes tight and breathing deeply. The nausea was sickening, but his stomach had nothing to divulge. 

He glanced around blearily, eyes landing on his sword, abandoned across the cell. He sighed and collapsed onto his side. He flexed his hands slowly. This was real. It wasn’t a nightmare. Last night had actually happened. Bad and Ant were gone. They weren’t the friends he used to know and love. 

Sam stared at the wall, eyes half-lidded and wanting to close. His head felt like it was filled with cotton. He couldn’t string his thoughts together. They came in bursts, intermittent with silence and emptiness. He thought of Puffy. His eyes blinked slowly. He remembered Tommy and Tubbo showing him around Snowchester. He let out a long sigh. He thought of Dream, alone and unguarded in the prison. His eyes opened.

_”Sam!”_ a voice hissed. “Please, Sam, answer me!”

He hummed. He knew that voice. He pushed himself up, arms shaking from the effort.

“Puffy?” he asked, dragging himself up the wall to lean against it. Why did he feel so _weak?_

“Oh, thank god,” Puffy exhaled. “I was starting to think you might’ve died on me.”

He managed to get to full height, eyes level with the air slit. He could see Puffy on the other side, glassy eyes staring back at him. 

“What… What are you doing here?” he realized suddenly, something finally clicking in his brain. “Bad and Ant-”

“Aren’t around right now. I came here for _you._ Are you okay?” she countered, fingers slipping through the crevice.

Sam reached up, barely able to link their fingers in the smallest way possible. His voice was hoarse as he responded, “I’m-I’m okay. Just tired. Spending a night with the Egg has not been the best for me.”

“You sound terrible,” Puffy sighed, sounding guilty. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see this coming. As soon as Bad asked you to give up your things, I should’ve realized-”

“Don’t worry, Puffy. I’m the same, I mean… they were some of my best friends,” Sam mumbled, tightening his grip on Puffy’s fingers. 

He saw her expression harden. She tugged on his fingers slightly and said, “Listen to me, Sam. I’m gonna find a way to get you out of here, I swear. I’m going to make sure Tommy and Tubbo are okay and I’m gonna find someone who can help us, alright? I can’t stay for too long, but promise me you won’t give in, okay? _Promise me._ ”

He met Puffy’s eyes through the small vision they had of each other. He swallowed and nodded. Her determination was clear. He had things to live for. He’d resisted for this long, he wouldn’t give up now. 

“I promise,” he croaked. 

Puffy nodded. She hesitantly slipped her fingers from his. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be strong, Sam.”

He nodded again, not trusting his words. He watched Puffy slowly turn and break for the exit. He slid his hand from the slit and leaned back against the wall. As he fell back to the floor, a strong sense of loneliness overwhelmed him. It was for the best. If Puffy got caught, then it was all over. He tilted his head back against the obsidian. He breathed in… and out… He wasn’t going to panic. He was going to get out of here. He had to believe that. He had to. 

At some point, he slipped back into unconsciousness. He heard whispers, but couldn’t understand what they said. He felt something cool and slippery slide over his ankle. A heat crawled up his chest, along the side of his neck, and creeped across his cheek. The black behind his eyes started to bloom a deep, crimson red.

-

_Are you ready?_

Sam woke with a jolt. He looked around wildly, searching for the source. He lunged for his sword. His hands were shaking, but he held it at the ready. 

“Who are you?” he whispered, eyes scanning his cell.

_A friend. One you’ve rejected._

He forced himself to stand on his shaking legs. Glancing through his small window, it looked like the vines were waving. That shouldn’t be possible. 

“You’re not my friend,” he stated. His mantra. “You’re a bad thing. You corrupted Bad and Ant. You’re the reason they betrayed me.”

_They know what’s best. Trust me, Sam. I only want what’s best for you._

The voice was chilling. His whole body felt hot. He felt the goosebumps on his skin. He had to be sick. This had to be a fever dream.

_You want what’s best for the kids, don’t you? I can protect them._

A shiver traveled down his spine. No, he knew that was wrong. If anything, he knew that was not right.

“No, you can’t help them. You’ll only make things worse,” Sam snapped. He froze. It was then he realized who he was talking to. 

_I bring people together, Sam. No one will endanger them if they all come to serve me._

“No! You’re wrong!” Sam shouted, the force grating his throat. “They… They’re too fragile. They can’t… I won’t let them be used again.”

His voice cracked, whether it be from lack of use or emotion, he didn’t know. He missed them. He missed the sky. He wanted to see someone. Loud laughter and jokes used to fill his days. Now it was silence and voices in his head. 

He blinked slowly. He could practically see Dream in the room with him. He sat in the corner opposite him, writing in one of the books. He was always so calm. He sat and he wrote and half-heartedly complained whenever Sam was around. One night, when Sam was delivering his dinner, he’d talked. He told Sam everything. He knew what Dream did to Tommy in exile. He knew what Dream wanted him to be. It was disgusting. Sam would do whatever he had to to make sure Tommy was never manipulated like that again. 

_And you can have that power, if you accept my aid._

“Stop it,” he breathed, getting more lightheaded with each breath he took. 

_Am I so hard to love? You ignore your own weakness._

“Stop,” Sam repeated, louder. He lowered his sword slightly. “Leave me alone.”

His eyes trailed a red mote as it floated inside his cage.

_You remain here, trapped, leaving them alone for another day. What good is a sword in a display case?_

He faltered, dropping his sword to push his hands against his ears. He stared at his feet, seeing double.

“You can’t help me,” he mumbled. “You can’t help me.”

_Don’t be afraid. I am your salvation, your inevitability. I’ll always be waiting._

Sam’s knees gave out. He collapsed, eyes clamped shut. The chill was gone and all that remained was an unbearable heat that was making his head swim. Each breath was a struggle, and the effort was adding to the uncomfortable layer of sweat coating his skin. He couldn’t breathe. He felt the spores entering his lungs with each inhale. It was taking root. It was feeding off of him and he had no power to stop it. The Egg was right. He was weak. 

Sam whimpered, grasping his hair in his hands and pulling. This wasn’t right. He was the warden of the prison. He was Tommy and Tubbo’s protector. He was fighting the egg with Puffy. Was that right? He was starting to lose track of the boundaries, of where right ended and wrong began. 

-

Nothing made sense. Each time the voice in his head came back, it offered him something different. Whether it be freedom or power, it tried to appeal to him. Sam always refused. He’d carved it into his arm. Warden’s Will was still stained with his blood. _Be strong._ Every time the voice returned, he pressed his fingers into his arm, the pain grounding him in one of the few ways that worked. They were trying to break him. In a sense, they had. Just not in the way they were hoping. 

His eyes fluttered open. Blood still dripped from his arm, pooling on the floor where it rested. There were no signs he’d done this before. The Egg absorbed the red he drained from his body. It was feeding on his blood. He was empowering it, but… he couldn’t stop. 

He heard the sound of slithering and glanced upwards. Red vines were crawling in through his window. He stopped breathing. He sat still, like a deer in headlights, watching as the vines crept down the wall. They spread across the floor, wrapping around his ankles and climbing his legs. They were warm and slimy and the feeling of them on his skin made him want to vomit. The vines crawled towards his arm. They touched the blood pooling on the floor, and Sam choked as it was quickly absorbed. 

He tugged his arm away, feeling the blood splatter across his face. He tore his legs from the vines and scrambled to his feet. His fingers scraped at the window’s edge in animalistic desperation. He needed out. He needed air, he needed to breathe. He couldn’t do it. He was going to suffocate if he didn’t get _out_ -

_”Please!”_ Sam called, answered by his own echo. “Let me out! I can’t-I can’t do this anymore…!” 

His voice broke. The red vines wrapped around his hands. His fingers were bleeding, some of his nails ripped clean from their beds. They were drinking. He screamed and fell back. He scratched his hands across the obsidian, trying to rip away the foliage. His blood made dark stripes on the wall where the vines had once been. Sam stared, blinking rapidly. There were no vines. The proof of his self-harm stained the walls and floor instead.

Sam looked down, staring blankly at the words carved into his arm. _Be strong._ Something in him cracked. Tears streamed from his eyes. A mangled cry rang throughout the cave. Sam couldn’t take it anymore. The stress and the pressure was breaking him. He couldn’t be strong. He just wanted to give in. To let the Egg take over so the pain could end. It knew he was weak. He was so vulnerable now, it struck all of his sore spots with ease. It preached to him about potential and unity and power, but that’s not what Sam wanted anymore.

He just wanted to go home. 

-

“Wake up. It’s over.”

A foot kicked his side, the burst of pain a rude awakening. Sam wheezed, breaking into a harsh coughing fit. He didn’t have the strength to sit up, so he lazily trailed his eyes across the ground to the source. His blurry eyes recognized the bright green hoodie in front of him, they despised the menacing smile plastered forever on that stark white mask. 

“Over?” he slurred, leaning his head back to gaze up at the man crouching over him.

“Yep. It’s all over. The stuff with the Egg, Tubbo’s nukes, our little disc debacle… it’s all resolved,” Dream said. He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulders and squeezed. “You don’t have to worry anymore. No more responsibility falls on your shoulders.”

_Huh?_ When… How long had it been? It couldn’t have been more than a few days. Nothing could be resolved that fast. He… He was still trapped with the Egg, wasn’t he?

“What…? How…?” he asked. He tried to sit up, only to be forcefully pushed back down.

“Well, since you weren’t around, I broke out. It wasn’t hard from there. Clearing out Snowchester took a few hours. The Egg’s gone, that just needed one well placed blue fire and it was done. Tommy, on the other hand, put up a bit of a fight,” Dream sighed, falling back on his heels. He slipped a hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out two discs. Cat and Mellohi, dull in the obsidian cage. “But they’re mine again, and no one’s gonna have to worry about Tommy stealing their things or making attachments for a while.”

Sam’s blood ran cold. “What… did you do… to him…?”

“I put him where he was supposed to be,” Dream told him happily. He slapped his shoulder in a brotherly fashion and said, “He’s in the prison. That maximum security cell should be treating him nicely.”

For the first time in days, Sam was _angry_. He reached up and weakly pulled at Dream’s hand, trying to tear it away to no avail. “You’re a monster.”

“It’s what he deserves, Sam. And I made sure he knew it,” Dream explained, obviously satisfied with his actions. He stood straight, lifting Warden’s Will off the ground and tossing it between his hands. “You’re not needed anymore, Sam. He doesn’t need comfort or help. He needs to learn his lesson. Enjoy the afterlife, Sam. I heard it’s nice there, if you like cigarettes and whiskey.”

Time stood still for a moment. One thought floated to the surface of Sam’s mind, loud and clear, unlike everything he’d been trying to piece together for the last few days: _I’m going to die here._ It was comforting, in a way. He wasn’t going to be the one to take his own life, in the end. It would be Dream, as it was always meant to be. A sense of calm slowly overcame him. He watched the minimal amounts of light glint off of Warden’s Will as Dream raised the sword above his head, holding the hilt with both hands. Sam exhaled, mind empty of thoughts. It was serene. It was wonderful. 

“Goodbye, Sam. I won’t forget you, but history will,” Dream said cooly. 

Sam felt the blade pierce his stomach. The cool metal was bliss against his scorching skin. The fire that had been burning him was suddenly doused, and he woke up.

He gasped, sitting up and instantly being destroyed by a crash of nausea. He leaned to the side, retching violently with no satisfaction. He hadn’t eaten in days, there was nothing to get out. His head was spinning. He was _freezing_. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as his body recovered… to find it was wet. He was completely soaked--his hair, his face, his clothes--all of him. Where was he? This-This wasn’t his cage. There was light. There-There wasn’t any obsidian. 

He glanced around, more confused than he’d ever been. He wasn’t with the Egg. This was a normal bedroom. He laid on top of the covers, leaving a Sam-shaped spot on the comforter. A fire crackled in a fireplace, low and contained. He ran a hand under his shirt, feeling his stomach. No stab wound. Not real. Was this real? He still didn’t know. He needed to find out.

He slid his legs over the side of the bed, standing unsteadily. With each quaking step, he found more details. His fingers were bandaged. So was his arm. Outside the window was spruce trees and snow. He leaned heavily against the door once he reached it. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to _go home_. But who knew if that was safe anymore. He inhaled a sob and opened the door. 

He spilled into a front room. Another fire was burning in a second fireplace. The room was empty. A door hung open further into the room, and there was a hallway directly to his left. He heard voices and resisted the urge to duck back into the bedroom. A door in the hallway opened, and Sam hesitated to believe it was true.

“Puffy?” he called, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. 

She spun, nearly dropping the towels when her eyes landed on him. She sprinted down the hall, wrapping her arms around his torso in a hug that hurt but he didn’t care because a caring touch was something he didn’t know how much he’d wanted. He limply raised his arms, gripping the back of her coat tighter than he’d ever held anything. 

“Oh, Sam,” Puffy gasped, voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, Sam. _I’m so sorry._ ”

He couldn’t speak. Every inch of him hurt and if he opened his mouth he knew he would break. He nodded into Puffy’s shoulder, leaning down to hide his face entirely. He tensed, remembering images of Dream and vines and his blood sinking through the floor-

“This is real, right?” he asked, the smallest he’d ever felt. “I’m not dreaming? This isn’t some screwed up vision?”

“No, no Sam, it’s not. It’s real, I’m real,” Puffy pulled away, holding his biceps firmly in her hands, “I’m really here.”

Sam stared into her eyes. They were glossy and the next time she blinked, tears slipped out, leaving a shiny path down her cheeks. All he could find was worry and care, a feeling of responsibility that had very recently been snuffed in his own. His chest felt tight. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing. This… This had to be real. He so desperately wanted it to be. 

“...Sam?” 

He blinked, feeling a drip of saline escape down his cheek. The threat of more was building as he looked over Puffy’s shoulder. The messy blonde hair and wide blue eyes were enough to send him over the edge. They locked eyes, and Sam opened his arms as Tommy ran into them. He nearly toppled over, but Tommy kept them both standing. 

“Oh, Tommy…” he cried quietly. 

He was safe. He was okay. He wasn’t dead or locked in the prison, alone and suffering. He was in Sam’s arms and his heartbeat was pounding against Sam’s chest. He hadn’t failed him. Not yet.

“I missed you, big man,” Tommy said shakily. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Sam whispered, voice cracking.

He’d never been more thankful. He was soaked down to his bones and freezing cold and felt like he could pass out at any second but none of it mattered. He was free. He was safe and so were the people he cared about. The three of them stood in the hallway, waiting and watching as Sam sobbed into Tommy’s shoulder. How long ago had it been since this was the opposite? Since Tommy had come to Sam looking for comfort and relief, crying and opening up about everything he’d ever thought and felt? How long had it been since Sam discovered that attachment was the best and worst thing that happened to them all?

Eventually, he was helped back to the bedroom, left alone for moments with Puffy as Tommy left for something else. He sat in stunned silence, barely feeling it as Puffy gently dried his hair. His gaze drifted downward, catching on his bandaged fingers. He’d tore his skin and peeled off his nails in his distressed state, consumed by longing to escape. His eyes were pulled towards the bandages around his forearm. _Be strong._ He could see the words through the white strips of fabric. They were slowly staining with a deep red. It was because of those words, that painful reminder, that he didn’t completely lose himself. 

“Sorry we left you all wet,” Puffy apologized softly, shuffling in front of him and lovingly taking one of his hands in hers. She began to pat his arm dry as she continued, “As soon as we got you out of there we went to the church. You were unconscious already, so we just washed you in the holy water to get everything off then came right back here. Your fingers should heal up just fine, don’t worry about that, but, um, your arm…” Puffy swallowed, forcing herself back into motion. “That might leave a scar.” She paused again, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tight. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head, hoping she got the message. It wasn’t her fault. All of the signs were there: he never should have trusted Bad and Ant in the first place. His voice was gone, his throat too raw and his body too dehydrated and malnourished to keep up. The only reason he was still awake was because of Puffy. He focused on the soft towel on his skin and the crackling of the fire. He watched gentle snowflakes fall outside in the dark night. The peace was welcome. It highly contrasted how loud the voice in his mind had been. 

The door flew open, and Sam was barely able to recognize the brown hair and green shirt before Tubbo threw himself at him. It definitely made him wake up a bit. He was all cried out, so he couldn’t match Tubbo’s sobs as he clung to him. His heart was sad enough, if he had anything left, it would be easy. He raised a hand to the boy’s head, carding his fingers through his hair. 

“You’re okay,” Tubbo cried into his shoulder, words flooding with relief. “I-I was so worried! I can’t-I don’t wanna lose you, too…” 

Sam inhaled sharply, searing his throat and burning his eyes. He croaked, “I’m here, Tubbo. I’m… I’m real.”

The words were for Tubbo as much as they were for himself. He glanced up, hearing the statement echo in his ears. _I’m real._ Puffy was wiping a stray tear from her eye, hiding behind the towel somewhat. Tommy had appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray laden with food and water. His eyes were glassy as he watched his best friend cry into Sam’s shoulder. This moment couldn’t be faked. It was tender and loving. It was warm--not the harsh and uncomfortable warm of the Egg, something much softer. It was familial and life changing. The Egg couldn’t fabricate emotions so heartbreakingly real. 

It seemed wrong. Living through torment and torture didn’t make him feel deserving of anything. He just felt empty. As Tubbo pried himself off of Sam and lounged back on the bed, a dull feeling of warmth and love sprouted in his stomach. Sam expected it to grow into a wildfire and consume him from the inside out, but nothing changed. Tommy gave him the tray and collapsed next to Tubbo, falling into some spiel about how they planned his prison break. No heat made him pass out from exhaustion or see visions in the corner of his eye. Puffy laughed and spoke over Tommy briefly, correcting a detail he’d gotten horribly wrong. The warmth persisted. It made him feel calm, safe and protected. Was that right?

He found himself nodding, barely listening to Tommy’s tale. He ate slowly, lost in his thoughts and getting used to moving his mouth again. His appetite wasn’t very strong, though he knew he needed to eat something. The amount of times he’d dry heaved in the past few days did not help. Still, he’d finished his meal before Tommy did his story. He offered a weak smile and a nod, a thank you. Tommy’s chest puffed up with pride, and Sam felt his smile morph into a grin. 

Puffy shoved the boys out, insisting they get some rest. She stayed in the room, practically tucking Sam into bed and stoking the fire before settling in a chair at his bedside. She took his hand in hers and smiled warmly, rubbing circles on the back of his hand. 

“Sleep easy, Sam,” she whispered. “We’ll be here waiting when you wake up.”

It was hard not to fall asleep. The room was so comfortingly warm, the sheets so soft and so much more welcoming than the obsidian floor he’d grown used to. He pushed those visions from his mind and nodded, letting his eyes close. That time had passed. He wasn’t there anymore, and he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon. There were people who would do all they could to keep that from happening. He squeezed Puffy’s hand and let himself sleep. No passing out, no falling unconscious, he succumbed to the black space behind his eyelids on his own terms. He didn’t give in. He was strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write this so bad it overtook all of my other ideas so fast. I might make a sequel/2nd chapter to this fic, but I'm not sure, so don't get your hopes up too high. Just a few ideas I wanted to play around with but didn't fit here. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to let you all know how lovely and important you are! Take care of yourself, and be kind to yourself as well. Sometimes life is hard, and little mistakes can seem like the worst moments of your life, but I assure you its not. To anyone who needs to hear it: You're doing great! You are crushing it out there, you are so strong!!! You can do it!!! 
> 
> Stay safe y'all <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lucky, lucky Sam. Escape to live another day.”
> 
> His head snapped up. Dream stood across the room, leaning against the wall beside the door. Puffy was gone, her chair empty. A quick glance at the window revealed nothing. He couldn’t see the trees or snow outside, just pure void. Dream pushed off the wall, closing the space between him and the bed. Sam couldn’t move. 
> 
> “You know it’s not that easy,” he sighed, patting the hilt of Warden’s Will, which sat like it was his own on his hip. “Your friends came and broke you out, hooray!” he cheered sardonically, waving a hand through the air. “That doesn’t mean we were done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look who followed up its me!! anyway this chapter's shorter than the first, not as much that I wanted to write, but that's fine. I hope this feels like a good follow-up/conclusion to the first chapter!!
> 
> TW!!!!: Self-harm & descriptions of blood !!!!!!!

There was comfort to be found in total darkness. It was devoid of life, of the light and color you would see in any other space. Without the audio and visual noise, one could truly experience the stillness of death. When it was just you and your thoughts, alone in nothingness, there was the chance of finding true peace. Sam didn’t think that’s what this was. 

He didn’t think he was alone. Peace didn’t feel like an achievable concept. He was afraid to open his eyes, to allow his mind the freedom to create an image in front of him. He didn’t know if it would be real. He didn’t know if he’d open his eyes and dark rock and red dust would fill his lungs once more. The thought of returning to torment and corruption was horrifying. His chest burned, and he had to wake up just to breathe.

His eyes flew open, and he took a deep, heaving breath. Waking up lightheaded was strange. It really didn’t make any sense, but he felt it. His forearm was warm, and when he looked down and expected bandages, he wasn’t comforted to find his wound uncovered and opened. Blood dripped from the letters, streaking down his skin and onto the comforter. His breaths were shallow and quick. Why? This wasn’t supposed to be happening. His hand spasmed, and he noticed the change there, too. His fingertips were scraped raw. Blood trickled down his fingers and pooled in his palms. 

“Lucky, lucky Sam. Escape to live another day.”

His head snapped up. Dream stood across the room, leaning against the wall beside the door. Puffy was gone, her chair empty. A quick glance at the window revealed nothing. He couldn’t see the trees or snow outside, just pure void. Dream pushed off the wall, closing the space between him and the bed. Sam couldn’t move. 

“You know it’s not that easy,” he sighed, patting the hilt of Warden’s Will, which sat like it was his own on his hip. “Your friends came and broke you out, hooray!” he cheered sardonically, waving a hand through the air. “That doesn’t mean we were done.”

Sam shuffled back, pressing himself against the bed’s headboard. He stared at the vision in front of him, voice shaking just as violently as his hands. “This isn’t real. It wasn’t before--it’s not now. Leave me alone.”

Dream scoffed, slipping Warden’s Will from his belt. “Don’t fool yourself, Sam. You can’t get rid of me just like that. This is more than just a hallucination.”

He gasped, feeling something hot and painful stab his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his hands to the ache. His shirt was damp and sticky, and when he slowly lifted his hands they were doused in red. Dream hadn’t moved. This… This was from last time. They had unfinished business. 

“What…” Sam wheezed, realizing why he was so lightheaded, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not giving up on you,” Dream said. “You’re fun to play with. You struggle and cut your skin just to try and get rid of me. It’s caught my attention. I think I’ll still get you to give in to me yet.”

Sam could barely focus on the words. His eyes were on Dream’s wrist. Where his sweatshirt ended and his glove began, red vines were crawling out, predatory and snakelike. They wrapped around his hand and down Warden’s Will. They released their fangs and sucked the crimson from the blood dried on the blade. His blood. 

“You may have gotten away for now, but I’ll be waiting,” Dream’s voice said. Sam was certain it wasn’t really him. 

“Never,” Sam gasped, coughing and tasting iron. “I’m never giving in to you.” 

Dream sighed. He ran a finger along Warden’s Will and shrugged. “If that’s how you wanna be.”

Sam flinched away, shutting his eyes as his own sword cut across his chest. He felt the breath leave his lungs. The blood in his veins seized to flow and his heart stopped beating. He died a second time, to the visage of Dream the Egg haunted him with. The stinging of metal cutting his skin woke him from his nightmare. 

His eyes truly tore open. The world outside his window was dark. A shiver shot up his spine, making his body tremble violently. Dream was gone, Warden’s Will leaning against the wall in the space he once occupied. His stomach wasn’t split open and his arm and fingers were still bandaged. None of that was grounding. He couldn’t take a full breath, everything came up short and unfulfilling. His whole body continued to shake. He couldn’t get rid of that feeling of being watched, of feeling seen and violated in ways that made him search each shadow for a sign of slithering tentacles. 

Sam shoved himself back against the wall. With each futile inhale, a sharp ache pierced his chest. He’d inhaled so much of the Egg’s air. How much of it was still inside him? How much had taken root and was still infecting him at this very moment? His fingers twitched. He wasn’t safe, he never had been, no matter how much he’d wanted to believe it. There was no escaping something that had invaded your body without your permission. There would still be voices. There would be living nightmares and coughing up red. He wouldn’t be able to escape that pain he’d felt for so, so long.

He whimpered, bringing his knees to his chest and hiding his face in the space in between. He could feel it already, slimy tentacles skating across the back of his neck, emanating an unnatural warmth that made him want to vomit. The dual heat and chill of loneliness and stress forcing him into a feverish state crawled up his arms and spread through his body. He felt his body ache and his head fill with fog. Nothing could ever end this easily. 

He needed that feeling of normalcy. The feeling of control. His eyes were filled with tears, but the motion had become so instinctive he didn’t need to see. In one swift moment, he was scraping at the bandages on his arm. He tore them away with quaking fingers and felt an intense relief. The wound was no better than previous days. _Be strong_ would be scarred into his flesh for the rest of his life. The more he continued to reopen it, the worse it would get, he knew that, but… he needed this. Needed to feel _something_ of his own accord, not something implanted in his mind by the Egg or its provocations. He had control. At least in this one miniscule action, Sam had control over his body and what it felt.

He dug his fingers into the cuts, inhaling sharply at the burst of burning pain as his skin ripped apart. The bandages on his fingers hindered the process, but only made him more desperate to succeed. He felt the scabbing wounds, ring and pinky finger dragging across the “s” as he split open the “e”. His blood was warm on his fingers, soothing and settling as he learned he was still alive, not just some puppet pulled along by the Egg. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, watching the thick stream of red dripping from his arm. 

The ache of his chest couldn’t distract from the strong desire to continue. His fingers itched to push further, harder, to ensure that he was awake and that his mind belonged to _him_ and him alone. His body acted before his brain could make sense of his turmoil. He wanted relief and there was one way he knew how to get it, it only required a little shove. 

His nails scratched and broke the thin layer of skin healing over the wound. Another river of red began to flow down his arm. Sam exhaled shakily. His breathing was still fucked and by no means was he stable, but in some horribly messed up way, he felt a bit better. This was all him. No one else had convinced him this was the right thing to do. This wasn’t a temptation of power or a threat of takeover. This was just him proving he had power, even if it was only over his own body. 

The door creaked open, and Sam was sure he actually stopped breathing then. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t look away from his own blood coating his hands and staining the bed sheets. There was a gasp, and Sam’s grip on his forearm only tightened.

“Shit- Guys! Get-Get some bandages and rags and-and clean water!” Puffy yelled, panicked, pushing herself out of the doorframe and hurrying to Sam’s side. 

Sam opened his mouth, for what, he had no clue. He felt like he should say something, try to explain, but all his mouth could provide was a choked sob. Puffy scooped one of the abandoned towels off the floor and grabbed Sam’s arm. She either ignored or didn’t notice how he’d flinched. She pried his fingers out of the grooves in his flesh and tightly wrapped the towel over the bleeding. It quickly began to stain, but Puffy continued to apply pressure, biting her lip and her eyes starting to water. 

“I’m-I’m s-sorry,” Sam managed, digging his nails into his knee, the burn of his raw skin rubbing against the bandages nowhere near as bad as the unprecedented shame churning in his stomach.

Puffy shook her head roughly, voice thick with unshed tears as she replied, “Don’t you dare be sorry, Sam. Don’t you ever apologize to me for feeling pain.”

The concern in her voice was enough to make him sob harder. Tubbo and Tommy careened into the room then. Tubbo froze at the door for mere moments, eyes wide as he realized what was happening in front of him. Tommy tugged him forward, dumping the contents of his arms onto the bed. Tubbo sat down his bucket of water and stepped back. Puffy immediately got to work, dunking one of the rags in the water and cleaning the blood from Sam’s arm. He didn’t see Tommy go rigid, eyes flicking between the bloody _Be strong_ and Sam’s red fingertips. He felt it as a body pressed up against his side, prying his fingers off his knee and holding his hand tightly. He squeezed it tight, relishing the touch of someone else. 

Things slowly started to register. Puffy had moved onto tightly wrapping his arm in fresh bandages, padded with a new and thicker layer of gauze. It was Tommy who was sitting beside him, keeping a firm grip on his hand. His sobs had diminished into shuddering breaths and sniffles. His chest ached and his face felt uncomfortably hot. He was so _embarrassed_. The looks of pity inflamed his shame a hundredfold. They’d all seen his weakness, laid out painfully bare and honest on his torn skin and bloodied hand. 

Puffy swallowed hard, finishing her bandaging. She held Sam’s hand gently in both of hers, splaying out his fingers in her hands. She quietly asked, “Have you done that before?”

“It-” Sam hiccupped, wanting to spill his soul more than he had his entire life, “-It was the only thing I had. The Egg wouldn’t l-leave me _alone!_ I-I _had_ to. I was going _crazy_ in there--it was the only thing that made me feel sane, like I was in control of myself! If I didn’t, I-I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”

His voice gave up on him. There was nothing more for him to say. He’d punctured old wounds over and over just to feel something that wasn’t loneliness or desperation. There were times when he wished his arm wouldn’t skin over, that he’d just bleed out and not have to listen to the Egg’s temptations. He didn’t want to be plagued by its hallucinations and the recurring theme of his death when he didn’t comply. The urge still lingered in his fingertips, the subtle need to confirm that yes he was real, he could bleed and it would hurt, made his hand twitch. Tommy’s hand clutched his tighter, containing his restlessness in the simplest way possible. 

Puffy looked so pained, so upset and guilty that Sam couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong. She told him not to apologize. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t, all of the words died on his tongue. 

“I-I need you to listen to me, Sam, and I need you to believe me, no matter what demons in your head argue otherwise,” Puffy started, wrapping both of her hands tightly around the one of his she held. “You have been… so strong. This hasn’t been easy, but you’re still here. You resisted and pulled through. You really are sitting in front of us here right now. And… And this-” she slid a thumb across his wrist, “-this isn’t easy to talk about. Thank you for being honest, that was so, so brave of you. Here’s what I really, really need you to remember, okay? You aren’t alone. Tommy, Tubbo, and I are right here. We’re gonna help you through this, okay? We’re gonna get through this together, one step at a time.”

Sam nodded, forcing his vocal chords to work, “Yeah, yeah… okay.”

“Okay,” Puffy echoed. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and smiled at him softly. She gave his knee a comforting squeeze and stood, slipping her hands from his. “Let’s get this cleaned up, I think. Then we can get started on dinner. I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving.” 

It was simple. Comfort was such a simple thing, compared to the reasons people needed it. Kind words and warm hugs weren’t hard things to give. They could be given out like candy, like spare glances at a starry night sky or the sun setting over the water. What was complicated was why people needed it. There were nightmares and self-loathing, days where it was hard to believe anything mattered and days where it was a struggle to get out of bed. All of the reasons for needing comfort were complex and difficult to understand. They all come from different experiences and different needs, and Sam understood his own needs the least of all. Feeling like he had to hurt himself to know he was his own person wasn’t normal. He didn’t deserve that. He knew this wasn’t the answer to his problems, just a solution he’d forced on himself when he didn’t know what else could possibly ease his pain. Habits die hard, though. He didn’t think letting go would be so easy. Still, Puffy was right. With the initial adrenaline down to its last stages, his brain could piece together her words and take them as they really were. He wasn’t alone. 

Tommy, hands still intertwined, slid off the bed. He tugged Sam’s arm gently and urged, “C’mon, sitting in bed all day’s fuckin’ boring.”

“And, not to drag this on, but it is kind of covered in blood,” Tubbo mumbled, gesturing to the sheets vaguely. 

Sam couldn’t stop a puff of a laugh from escaping his lips. He nodded, letting the boys help him up. Tubbo took hold of his other hand as he stood, staring at it intensely for a moment.

“Really, though,” he started, shuffling nervously, “we might not be, y’know, the best help in the world, but, Tommy and I are here to help, if you ever need it.”

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve always been there for us, so, least we could do is return the favor,” Tommy mumbled with a shrug. 

Sam smiled, taking their awkward care as it came. He tugged them both closer, enveloping them in a hug. The two boys looked at each other in surprise before tangling their arms around him. 

“Thank you both, really,” he said quietly. He let them go to ruffle their hair and announced, “I’m gonna be counting on you both a lot more from now on, then.”

Tommy puffed his chest out and declared confidently, “You can count on me, big man! Nothing stands a chance against me and Tubbo.”

“That’s debatable, but I admire the confidence,” Tubbo said, patting his friend on the shoulder. 

Sam snickered again, going along when Tommy grabbed his hand once more and dragged him out of the room. He let himself be sat in a chair in the kitchen, watching as the others got to work on dinner. It was nice, the warm atmosphere. He felt relaxed. It was a casual slip back into everyday life. Sam was incredibly grateful for that. He could feel the wintery chill sneaking through the windows and smell the cooking meat and vegetables. If this was the life he was destined to live from now on… he thought he could get used to it. 

It didn’t mean he was fine. In truth, he felt the furthest thing from okay. It was taking most of his willpower not to scratch at his new bandages. He’d been picking at the ones on his fingers instead. Those hadn’t been replaced and were still stained red. He figured he could tear at them and it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He needed something to do with his hands, and this would suffice.

Sam knew it was going to take time and effort to deprogram his brain from its harmful coping mechanisms. With the right mindset, he knew he could manage it. He had the support system, he just had to believe he could do it. Staring at the heavy gauze padded on his arm, it felt a little hard to think about. He was so quick to give in to the voices in his head. He wished they would quiet down a little. That’d make everything so much easier. It was a childish way of thinking, but he didn’t have the energy to think critically about his mental health right now. His thinking capacity was limited to commenting on Tommy’s constant rambling and listening to his friends lightheartedly argue over the best vegetable to pair with steak. 

He didn’t need to worry about it, though. That could wait for later. Recovery was a long road, and he’d take it at his own pace. Healing would be hard, but he wasn’t tackling it alone. There was so much proof of that. It was when Puffy held his hand and bandaged his wound when he woke up. It was when Tommy dragged him through the house, careful of his force and babbling his mouth off at the same time. It was when Tubbo noticed his ruined finger bandages and took it upon himself to redo them. His struggle had barely started, but Sam was fairly certain he would make it through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmnnmm found family but at what cost

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all comments/kudos/bookmarks you choose to leave! 
> 
> You can follow my [tumblr](https://quibbels.tumblr.com/) for fic updates and my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/quiblii) to see more stuff from me!


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